


Mine, Yours and Ours

by Baroness_Blixen



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Post-Episode: s11e07 Rm9sbG93ZXJz, post-ep, whoever decided that mulder and scully don't live together: you suck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 12:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13834374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baroness_Blixen/pseuds/Baroness_Blixen
Summary: Set right after the episode ends. Scully ponders the fact that she no longer has a home. Or does she?





	Mine, Yours and Ours

“I don’t have a home anymore, Mulder.” They’ve been quiet for so long, the only noise around them other people chatting, laughing that he needs a moment to process her words. She is leaning against him slightly as if trying it out, as if unsure.

“You always have a home, Scully.” He tells her and he feels her hand squeeze his. “I told you that before you got that… thing.”

“That thing, Mulder, was a super modern, very chic housing project.”

“Blergh.”

“Is that the blobfish talking?” Scully chuckles. He definitely won’t eat sushi again for a while. Or any kind of fish.

“We have a very beautiful, decidedly not modern house, Scully, and it… misses you.” He steers the conversation back. His admission makes him sweat; Scully knows how he feels, because he tells her all the time. Not with words, like now, but with glances, with the softest touches and once or twice with a cute post-it. He hopes they’re cute. Either way, she knows. She has to know. 

“The house?” She asks and her voice is so soft, so tentative that their surroundings almost drone it out. Mulder hears her though, nods and wonders if she can see it; their positions are awkward here on these bar stools. Two people in love and in limbo, neither here nor there. He wonders what they look like to others. Maybe everyone else is too busy thinking about themselves. Or staring into their phones.

“I miss it, too. Sometimes.”

“Does that mean…” He trails off. The waitress throws them another smile, leaves them alone. Maybe she’s caught a few scraps of their conversation. Maybe she understands what a big deal this is. To him, anyway.

“Hmmm.” Scully sways back and forth on the bar stool, reluctant to commit, like a teenager. That’s exactly what Mulder feels like, too. Her hand remains on his, as if glued there. He wants to tell her that this is what he wants for the rest of their lives. Holding her hand while having lunch. Holding hands and not talking. Just holding hands every day, all day. Everywhere.

“Are you coming home, Scully?” Somewhere a plate clatters. It doesn’t break, just makes noise. Scully startles, stops moving. She’s leaning against him heavily now, her shoulder against his. If he were to move even an inch, she’d fall. He’s not going to move.

“Is there even enough space in your house?”

“Our house,” Mulder emphasizes, “has enough space for all of my things and your things. Hell, we have enough space to move Skinner in.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t want Skinner as a roommate, but-”

“That’s not what I mean, Mulder.”

“I know.” He laughs quickly, quietly, “I have never been so sure of anything, Scully.” He’s been waiting for this moment ever since she packed her bags, left him all alone. When she left, he sat next to the door all day, all night. Waiting for her to return, like a dog. She didn’t come back that night or the next few hundreds.

“I guess…,” she trails off and finally turns to him. There’s a soft smile on her face and even when her phone buzzes, she doesn’t take her eyes off of him. “I guess it’s time.”

“One condition, though.” She sighs, a fake sound accompanied by a chuckle. He loves this side of her and soon, very soon, he’ll get to see it all the time again. His heart soars and he almost forgets what he wants to say. Not an unusual occurrence when Scully is close. Even after 25 years she can render him speechless with a few simple words, one glance or one giggle.

“Mulder?” Scully strokes her thumb over his knuckles, reminds him that he’s in his head and not talking to her.

“Uhm, we’re not turning the house into a smart home. Not after what happened.”

“I accept that condition, Mulder.”

“Do you want to go… home, now?” The cash is on the table – tip included, of course. Neither of them seems eager. After a night of silence, of being around robots, unliving, buzzing things, this feels nice. Real.

“Hmm, how about a muffin? My treat.”

“Sounds good and uhm, it reminds me,” he squirms in his chair and he feels Scully’s eyes on him, “I’m sorry you lost your, you know. I can buy you a new one.” He’s not going to tell her he found her vibrator, stomped on it once (or twice) and threw it back into the trash.

“I don’t think I need it, Mulder.” The waitress puts the muffin in front of them. Chocolate and caramel. Scully sighs, almost moans, and her words penetrate his brain.

“You sure?” He asks as he picks a small piece of chocolate off the top. He considers putting it into his mouth, but Scully looks at him and his finger as if she were starving. He offers it to her not caring in the least where they are and who can see them. She licks the chocolate off his finger and he sits there, stares. What else can he do? Words have left him, his sanity has abandoned him.

“Maybe we should go home after all.” Scully says, her voice rushed and urgent. She points at the muffin – no chocolate will ever be left behind – and Mulder takes it, shrugs at the waitress who, from the looks of it, knows exactly what Mulder and Scully have planned. She knows more than I do then, Mulder thinks as he follows Scully to his car. Their car now, maybe. What’s his is hers. He will tell her later. From the glance she throws him, hungry and playful, he thinks it will be much later. She takes the muffin out of his hand, but instead of getting into the car, she gets on tiptoes and kisses him. She tastes like chocolate, like Scully and like home.

“Home.” He whispers against her lips.

“Yes,” she answers with another peck on his lips, “home.”


End file.
